There's a rumor that an old lady heard a

Kingpin hiring a hitman to murder

A federal prosecuting drug-dealing witness

But that's how it is in the business

And I'm in it, physically gaining power

Constantly counting up cash by the hour

And it feels good to be paid

Regardless of how many victims get slayed

Accomplices of mine drop like flies

But in this everyday a homeboy dies

Whether shot in the body or cyanide in ya Bacardi

'Cause it's a cutthroat party

Now it's up to me to retaliate

And if I score, I'll increase the murder rate

I move on ones who double-cross

Set them up, now they suffer the loss

Of he or she who's ever on the agenda

Most likely a family member

Informants, rattle-tattle-telling snakes

Get shot up, brutalized and thrown in lakes

The parts of a body is found days later

The other half was done by an amputator

I'm undefeated in plenty fights

My enemies are beaten with many stripes

I'll shoot up funerals, firebomb wakes

Vehicular homicides, whatever it takes

Just to keep control of my empire

I'll set ya own mother on fire

'Cause when it comes down just to me and my money

Ain't a fucking thing funny

All those who pose a threat I'll stick them

Ya friends, ya family and innocent victims

Get caught in the midst when I'm busting of nines

But they was in the wrong place, the wrong time

Decapitated bodies found in lots

While I'm still cooking up kilos in pots

The kilos becomes bricks and the bricks becomes rocks

Then retailed on the blocks

I drive around in expensive cars

And get women who fuck like porno stars

I get them high, you know, like powder they nose

Then put 'em in the streets as my high-class hoes

I'm wild, living foul and I'm ruthless

I leave muthafuckers toothless

I had a worker who stepped on the scene lively

Then started selling my customers Ivory

Soap, counterfeit vials of cracks

I stuck 'em to death with a thousand thumbtacks

You've seen my resume, that's just the half

I'm a bad muthafucker, just like Shaft

A character played by who? Richard Roundtree

The only difference, my guns are sound-free

Silencers ring off then wisp by

Then all you hear is a last minute cry

Of those who triedto control my territory

Not the West Side but the Bed-Stuy story

Police be giving me eye-to-eye contact

But I smile 'cause I'm putting out contracts

Now a G-note is placed upon ya head

You say picture that alright, bang ya dead



This is the life of a drug dealer